


Our Future's Dark, But I Can't Stop

by overratedantihero



Series: Strange is the Call of This Strange Man [9]
Category: Batman (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Budding Codependency, Canon Typical Violence, Dick Is in a Small Spiral, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Microchipping One's Children, Mild Drugging, Reference to Previous Sexual Assault, Reference to Serial Murder, Reference to sexual assault, Slade Is In Fact a Villain, The Siblings are Concerned, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 13:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: The Bat Family decides it's time to intervene as Slade and Dick's relationship escalates.





	Our Future's Dark, But I Can't Stop

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all asked, so here it is! A look at the Bat Family's perspective (spoiler alert: they are Concerned.)

“Alright, Bruce,” Jason growled, slamming a newspaper down over the controls of the Batcomputer. Bruce tore his eyes from the monitor to glance down. At a glance, it looked to be some tabloid-esque pronouncement regarding Dick’s love life. Bruce couldn’t read much around Jason’s hand, but this wasn’t an abnormal occurrence. “You need to do something about this shit.”

Bruce blinked and then glanced up at Jason, who was looming before him still in a domino mask, helmet under his arm. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jason. Print is dying. There’s nothing to do,” Bruce murmured sweetly.

Jason’s frown deepened impossibly. “No. Old man. Now’s not the time to develop a sense of humor, read the fine print.” Jason removed his hand and Bruce froze.

He had been right. It was a tabloid-esque pronouncement regarding Dick’s love life. Complete with a black and white photo of Dick in a grocery store, baseball cap doing nothing to hide his face as he tilted his head up to kiss the older man beside him. Bruce didn’t need to use facial recognition software to identify Deathstroke the Terminator in civvies.

His jaw tightened.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” he finally said, rolling up the paper and tossing it away. “Dick is an adult.”

“And Deathstroke is a murderer,” Jason growled. “Whose hobby was bloodying up Robin. That man threw Dick around like a ragdoll just a few years ago, you gonna stand by while he cozies himself up against Dick now? Bruce, he _took_ Dick. He snatched him and whisked him to Africa, while he was unconscious, and it took us _hours_ to pinpoint his location. This can’t go on. Deathstroke is playing with him like a cat does a wounded mouse.”  

Bruce frowned. “Dick has to make his own choices. He’ll resist me if I tell him to stop, I may make the situation worse by intervening. For now, we wait.”

Bruce’s eyes traveled to Jason’s clenched fist. Watched how Jason shook, mentally braced himself to block blows that were sure to result from Jason’s winding rampage.

 But then, through grit teeth, Jason hissed, “This is your fault. You convinced him that his life, his wellbeing, is less important than the mission. You put an eight-year-old kid in a cape and thrust him into the night, with the monsters, and now _that’s_ who he’s seeking. Instead of you, instead of us. You did this.”  

Then, Jason shouted wordlessly and stormed away, kicking his own memorial on his way out. Meanwhile, Bruce tapped on the computer’s keys and pulled up the map he used to track all his children, with trackers just underneath their skin. Slipped in there during routine blood work and checkups. No one could accuse Bruce of being an inattentive father. Even if the system wasn’t perfect, and didn’t account for the jamming technologies of mercenaries.

The blue glowing dot that represented Dick hovered safely in Gotham, likely in the penthouse. Not ideal, Dick should be in Bludhaven, but Bruce was satisfied that he was at least within reach. Bruce killed the map and headed upstairs.

* * *

 

“Robin,” Nightwing said, crossing his arms and tapping his foot against the roof. “Robin, I know you’re near. C’mon, let’s talk. What’s on your mind?”

Hesitantly, a sharp chin and masked face poked out from a nearby shadow. Damian had his hood slung over his head, his dark cloak wrapped tightly around his body. Likely to help him blend into the night, like his Father. Bright red, yellow, and green did not lend itself to stealth—Dick would know.

“N,” Damian greeted curtly.

“Robin,” Dick said, dropping his arms and stilling his foot. “Robin, why are you following me? Did B ask you to?”

“No!” Damian snapped, stepping out of the shadows completely and dropping his cape. His hands curled into fists by his sides. “Batman did not send me. Your _stupidity_ summoned me.”

Dick wanted to pretend he didn’t know to what Damian was referring, and so he did. “C’mon, Robin. What about some rooftag? I bet I could get Red Robin in on it. Red Hood may be even up to playing, if he’s around and we ask nice.”

Both boys’ comms crackled to life as Oracle tapped in. She could just as easily seize their comms silently; she left the white noise for their benefit. “Actually, Nightwing, Red Hood isn’t around. But Black Canary and Huntress would love a word. Or two.”

“Sorry, Oracle,” Nightwing said with a strained grin. “Tell the ladies I can’t tonight. It’s a bro night.”

“Nightwing, this is serious! He’s dangerous, each time he stalks after you he leaves behind a body count! Never mind—how could you? After everything he’s done to you? He’s a wolf and you’re walking straight into his mouth!” Oracle began. Dick, without breaking his smile, ripped out his comm, dropped it to the ground, and crushed it underfoot.

“Last chance, Robin. Wanna run with me?”

“Tt.”

Damian acquiesced. While they ran, Damian tried to ask after Dick’s sordid relationship, but Dick subverted him each time by running faster, turning corners, and generally swinging farther. Up until he swung straight into Tim.

He hit Tim chest to chest, and the two sprawled on the roof while Jason laughed in the background. Robin landed gracefully on the roof and strode to stand by Jason.

“N! Get off,” Tim grumbled, shoving at Dick. Dick grinned and wrapped his arms around Tim, squeezing him close.

“Red Robin! It’s been too long!” Dick cooed. Tim shoved at his chest and Dick finally rolled over. Tim stood up and brushed himself off. He and the other two surrounded Dick, who seemed uninterested in standing. Dick blinked up at them. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this were an intervention.”

“Good think you don’t know any better,” Jason said. “Oh wait. That’s actually what got you here in the first place. Not. Knowing. Better,” Jason growled, his helmet contorting his voice, and he punctuated each word with a light kick to Dick’s side.

“Ow,” Dick offered up. Jason kicked him harder.

“Not good enough, Golden Boy,” Jason growled.

“Ease up, Red Hood. We’re not torturing him. We’re talking to him,” Tim insisted, holding an arm out, against Jason’s chest, to block him.

“Talking about what?” Dick asked, laughing to cover how nervous he was. The three fell silent. Tim cleared his throat.

“About Deathstroke, Dick. This is getting out of control—he _killed_ a man over you. He’s killed a few, actually. I don’t know how much you know, but this has to end.”

Dick hummed. He needed an out. He’d lost interest in this game, and they had no right to do this.

“He didn’t kill anyone,” Dick muttered, looking for an opening. He almost winced at his own lie. Slade had killed someone—but someone who was about to assault Dick. Dick knew what it was like to be violated, to be assaulted ( _raped_ ) while compromised. Dick bore the lewd catcalls from villains and heroes alike, all while harboring that trauma. Slade protected him that night, and Dick refused to see his actions as anything but noble in the same way that he forgave and understood Jason’s previous actions against the criminal underground. The guns hanging on Jason’s hips hadn’t always cradled rubber bullets. 

“Nightwing! You know that’s not true. He’s killing people, in your name. That makes it your responsibility. Nightwing, listen,” Tim beseeched, stepping forward. There.

Dick swiped out with his leg, throwing Tim’s legs out from under him. Tim hit the ground, stunned by the betrayal, and Dick rolled into a crouch before launching himself at Jason. Dick wrenched free Jason’s guns and emptied the clips before slinging them off the roof.

“Sorry, Little Wing,” Dick murmured, sliding a thin, plastic covered needle from a hidden pocket on his suit. Each needle was dipped with a tranquilizer- and was less traumatizing to the skin than a standard syringe.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare!” Jason growled, swiping to grab Dick’s wrist. Dick slipped the needle into Jason’s exposed forearm just as Damian gripped Dick’s hair and yanked him back and off of Jason.

“Grayson!” Damian snapped, losing himself in his fury. “ _What_ are you doing? We are trying to help!”

Dick dropped the needles, where Damian could see, and held up his hands until Damian released his hair. Dick turned slowly, to face him.

“Sorry, little D,” Dick murmured. “But cornering me is not going to solve whatever problem you think I have. I wish you’d all have talked to me. I wish we could have had a conversation, at my place or in the Manor. Because I know what I’m doing, I do. You don’t… none of you realize… Slade _isn’t_ a sociopath. He’s worth saving. Everyone is. That’s all I’m doing.”

Damian glanced behind Dick. Tim was tending to Jason, who was groggy but lucid. No one was hurt, Dick had only disarmed and briefly stalled them. This was still the Dick he knew, his _Dick_. Damian looked back at Dick.

“You’re making a mistake, and you’re lying with a murderer. He’s going to hurt you, Grayson. And when he does, I’ll be there. To disembowel him.” Damian stepped aside, giving Dick space and time to abscond. Dick lingered to press his forehead against Damian’s.

“I love you. I love all of you. I know what I’m doing.”

Then, Dick unsheathed his grappling gun and disappeared.

“’M gonna kill him,” Jason growled, cupping his head. “And I’m switching back to gauntlets. Goddamn.”

“You’re going to do no such thing,” Damian snapped, turning to his brothers. “Grayson thinks he’s flying without a net. He’s not. He has us.” Damian looked back into the inky night. “We won’t let him fall.”

* * *

 

His apartment wouldn’t be safe tonight, so Dick did what any reasonable, shaken bird would do and perched higher.

Slade wasn’t home when Dick slid into the Diamond District condominium window, so Dick stripped on his way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake. In the bathroom, he turned on the shower and paced as he waited for it to warm up. He caught a glance at himself in the broad mirror, and so he approached the counter and gripped the edge tightly, facing his reflection.

His brothers misunderstood. Barbara misunderstood. One man had died, but how many other men had he drugged and assaulted before Deathstroke killed him? How could Jason, who’d once collected trophies from his victims, consider Slade killing a sexual assailant any different from his own crimes? Why did the rules change when it was Dick who was the victim?

The mirror steamed, obscuring Dick’s face. But Dick continued to stare, continued to grip the counter so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Dick had made so much progress with Slade. Slade had abandoned his hunt during the Arkham break to take care of Dick. Their anti-poaching efforts in Tanzania were relatively peaceful. Slade provided shelter when Dick’s work as Nightwing took him North. Slade had been there for Dick’s night terrors, for Dick’s company. Sociopaths didn’t _do_ that.

The door opened, but Dick didn’t hear it. The mirror was too steamy to see the approaching figure. And so, when Slade wrapped his arms around Dick’s waist, Dick jumped.

“Scared, little bird?” Slade cooed into his hair. Dick relaxed, leaning back into Slade’s embrace.

“No. Not of you,” Dick murmured, although his voice sounded strange, even to himself.

“You’re wasting all of the hot water, pretty bird. Go take your shower, we’ll order takeout.”

Dick shook his head. “I should leave. I shouldn’t have come. My brothers they- they’ll find me. They somehow always do.”

Slade hummed and lifted a hand to stroke the back of Dick’s upper arm. “It’s because you have a microchip in your triceps. The Bat likely planted it when you were young, it’s in deep enough for you not to feel it when you feel the skin. I tend to line my spaces with signal jammers, they won’t know you’re here.”

Cold disgust spread from Dick’s face, through his core, down his limbs. He lurched forward and wiped clean a portion of mirror, bent his arm and lifted it as if he would be able to see physical evidence of the intrusion. “He…” Dick murmured. “We. We never were partners, were we?”

Through the cleared segment of mirror, Dick saw Slade shake his head. “He doesn’t trust anyone. Least of all his children. It’s one of his failings, it will be what leaves him alone.”

Dick lowered his arm. He could be angry, sad, confused. But instead, he just felt cold. Then, because the thought passed through, he asked, “Slade? Have you… you haven’t been killing anyone? Because of me?”

The mirror fogged over again, so Dick couldn’t see Slade. But he could feel him press against Dick’s back, the rough texture of Slade’s suit chafing Dick’s bare skin.

“Do you expect me to lie, pretty bird? You know about the gangster’s kid. But I did what I had to. He was going to hurt you.”

Dick nodded. He did know. Just as he knew his siblings were wrong. Dick would _know_ if Slade were killing.

“Gonna take a shower. Do you want to join?” Dick asked, turning around to face Slade, to pressed close against Slade’s chest.

“Not tonight, kid,” Slade murmured, and Dick tried to tamp down his disappointment. “I’ll take the shower after you. I need to unwind, call Wintergreen. But take your time. It seems like you’ve had a night.”

Dick nodded and untangled himself from Slade before dutifully walking past him, to the running shower. The air smelled metallic, Dick wrinkled his nose. It was likely the combined smell of his and Slade’s sweat-inducing nightly activities. Thus, Dick was grateful to slide under the heated water.

In the other room, Slade unsheathed his sword and made quick work of cleaning the residual blood. Afterwards, he oiled his blade and turned on the news. Dick took long showers when he could, and Slade wanted to see if his handiwork had made the nightly news yet.

Sure enough, there on the screen, a reporter described the grisly scene than the station couldn’t display for its brutality. Seven bodies, all members of Blockbuster’s gang, all laid out in a row with execution-style slit throats. The details were mostly there, but there were some that the reporter wasn’t privy to. Some that only Slade knew. Like, that those seven made games of harassing Dick during their spats with Nightwing. Dick had complained to Slade, shivered in disgust at the crude names they’d given him and the lecherous stares.

Slade sheathed his sword and changed the channel to something mindless and pleasant. He pulled a list from one of his pockets, struck seven names, and then carefully returned the list.

When Dick entered the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and looking flushed and relaxed (a far cry from what Slade discovered when he’d first entered the bathroom), Slade was already undressed.

“Didn’t take all of the hot water, did you?” Slade asked, running a hand through Dick’s wet hair as Slade walked past him for his own shower.

“I don’t think it’s possible in a building this nice,” Dick murmured. Then Dick paused and so Slade paused too.

“Is it okay if I stay here tonight?”

Slade smiled and pecked him on the head. “Of course, pretty bird.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce's nonchalant attitude is brought to you by his general behavior in the first few issues of Rebirth Nightwing. Bruce spent so long micromanaging and controlling his children, I feel that he's trying to let go know that they're adults... he's just really bad parenting so of course it would go awry. Poor Bruce. 
> 
> Also I know this was bit of a tonal shift from some of my previous fics in this same series. But I do want to make it clear: this relationship is not healthy. Dick genuinely cares for Slade, and Slade genuinely cares for Dick. Slade is also a villain. These can all be true. Just not true and healthy, you gotta pick one.


End file.
